


Unlikely Alpha

by goobzoop



Series: Criminal Minds Omegaverse (Separate Stories) [5]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Arranged Pairing, Background Cases, Bonding, Enemies to Lovers, Heats, Hotch!Omega, M/M, Masturbation, Mating, Scents & Smells, Spencer!Alpha, arranged mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobzoop/pseuds/goobzoop
Summary: EDIT: Finally doneHotch didn't bond at the usual age, never got summoned. Somewhere in the back of his mind he always knew bonding was a possibility, but after so many years of being by himself, it started to seem like less and less likely. He preferred it that way, being unmated.That's why it came as a shock and a nuisance when he got his letter in the mail at the age of thirty-seven saying the Council found his mate. Justgreat.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Series: Criminal Minds Omegaverse (Separate Stories) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754338
Comments: 41
Kudos: 225





	1. Coil

“Oh, God. This can’t be happening.” Hotch runs his palm rough and heavy over his face. “ _That’s_ him? This has to be a mistake.” 

Rossi squints. “Maybe he-” 

“No. Absolutely not. It’s a mistake. A clerical error. I’ll get it fixed. It has to be.” Hotch tears his eyes away from the window. 

Rossi looks pained. “I’m just saying, you have to have an open mind.” 

“Thanks for coming, Rossi. I’m sorry I wasted your time. I’m going to talk with the Council and have this straightened out. You can go.”

“Aaron, I think I should stay, the Council never makes mistakes, I know this isn’t what you were expecting but it doesn’t change my opinion of y—”

“Who implied your opinion would change?” he snaps. “Leave. I don’t need you here.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Hotch turns to face him. “I can handle myself,” he says with a snarl.

“You know what? Fine, But if you need me, just call,” he says. He’s taking one last look through the window, pity strewn all over his face plain as day, and it makes Hotch want to throw something heavy. He takes one more sympathetic glance at him and says, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Hotch has lots of regrets but this will be his crowning achievement. 

He’s got his jaw set and his fists balled, weighing him down like concrete. There’s a day that comes for every Omega when they get assigned to their most suitable Alpha. It usually happens a few years after they present. Hotch passed that mark so long ago he can hardly even remember the anticipation of getting his letter in the mail felt like. 

He certainly didn’t have any when he received it yesterday. Bland, white, and starchy, with a ABOC logo pressed into a wax seal, Hotch stared at his letter in abject horror. 

He doesn’t _need_ an Alpha. He doesn’t _want_ an Alpha. 

But he’s legally obligated to an Alpha now. 

The worst part, the absolute crux of the matter, is staring him straight in the face with a curvy, point grin, all snaggly sharp teeth and the promise of blood: his Alpha is a goddamn twink that has to be 10 years his junior. 

It’s the most humiliating scenario that could have been concocted, and he’s got half a mind to figure out who he pissed off enough to make this happen. He doesn’t linger on that idea, though, even if he does have enough enemies to fill a small boat; there’s processes going on inside the Council that don’t bother with petty things like vengeance and personal vendettas. There’s no changing, no switching, no running far away. No chance at all. 

He pulls the door open with more force than necessary and strides into the room with an air of confidence that’s only received through years of true hardship. He may be an Omega, but he isn’t some pouty face doormat that’s going to be steamrolled by someone of a higher rank. No, he’s got a chip on his shoulder and he doesn’t care what anyone smells like. He’ll stand up for himself until the cows come home. All he has to do is bond and never speak to him again.

Everyone in the room stills. He’s pleased. Even the twink is looking at him, and yes, he _should_ look scared. 

“I’ve been summoned,” he says, voice low and gruff. 

“Mr. Hotchner, yes,” an Official in thick rimmed glasses says. “We’ve been expecting you. Please hand over your documents.”

Hotch looks over at the kid and draws his animosity back until it doesn’t look like he’s going to outright murder him. He’s looking right back and he thinks he might wet himself. His eyes dart away after a few seconds, find a home on the floor instead.

“Right. It looks like everything is in order. I have to say, we were surprised to see your name, Mr. Hotchner; it’s been quite a while for you, hasn’t it? Congratulations.”

Hotch looks at him with a murderous gaze, affronted by this Official speaking to him like an Omega. “Not necessary. I won’t be participating. Get me a waiver to sign.”

The official looks up, eye twitching. “It doesn’t work like that, Mr. Hotchner. These decisions are final.” 

“Well then I’d like to speak with whoever is in charge. Now. Get someone down here.” 

“The Council doesn’t make appointments with disgruntled individuals,” he says matter-of-fact. “This is a legal matter and you will be held in contempt of the law if you choose not to proceed, _Agent.”_  
Hotch sees red but he’s not about to show down with a clerk in a government building no matter how much he’s seething with anger inside. “Just get on with it, then,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“Please, both of you step up to the counter.” He raises an eyebrow at the two. Reid walks over like he’s on black ice and Hotch wants it to crack. “Dr. Reid, this is Mr. Hotchner, Mr. Hotchner, Dr, Reid. The ABOCouncil has deemed you worthy mates, and as such you are legally obligated by the good state of Virginia to carry out the bonding process by which mating may be pursued. After a period of one year, if mating has not been accomplished and both parties are in agreement of termination, the bond may be reviewed by the Council for further investigation. Please, each of you take a pin, and press a drop of blood to the contract,” he says, motioning at the heavy stack papers in front of them. 

Hotch takes the pin, slashes the pad of his thumb, and pressed it down. It smears, dark, red, and angry across the page, and then Reid is pressing a tiny prick of blood down with strange meticulation. 

“Very good. Now, if there are any objections?” He’s scribbling details on the papers, and Hotch doesn't think this question was for anything but show but he says, “I object.”

Dr. Reid flinches beside him. The man looks up. “I will make a note in your file.”

Hotch scoffs, balls his fists; _bureaucrats._

“Please face each other,” he says. “Dr. Spencer Reid, Highbred Alpha-”

 _“Highbred?”_ Hotch cuts in; his head is spinning like a merry-go-round from hell. Not only is this young man an Alpha, but a _Highbred_ Alpha? How can the world be so cruel? How can biology gime someone like himself Omega genes and then go give someone like _him_ Highbred Alpha genes? He’s worked tirelessly his entire life, without a mate, to be the strong, self-sufficient person he is, no thanks to his innate traits. 

“Yes, Highbred,” the Official answers. “Please, let me continue: Highbred Alpha, Twenty eight years of age-” 

“No. I’m sorry, no. _Highbred?_ There has to be some mistake. Look at him.” He motions to Dr. Reid and lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not Highbred. Barely even an Alpha.”

The Official looks done. He looks like he’s seen this play out a thousand times and is just trying to get home to catch the last half hour of Alpha’s Got Talent. “I assure you he is, Mr. Hotchner. Now,” he continues. “Twenty-eight years old, never mated. Mr. Hotchner, Omega.” Hotch’s stomach twists uncomfortably. “Thirty-seven years old, never mated.” 

The official scratches something down on the paper, and says, “Dr. Reid, if you will, please form the bond.” 

Dr. Reid’s eyes grow wide and he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, speaking for the first time, and it comes out like the squeak of a mouse. “Me? I, uh. What, now? Are you ...sure?”

He nods. “Now, if you will.” 

He watches as Dr. Reid turns toward him; he wants him to _stop._ He wants him to keep his feet planted firmly on the floor and never move another inch. He’s got tension gripping his lungs and they’re burning hot inside him. He takes a deep breath. It doesn’t help. Dr. Reid makes eye contact and immediately falters. It’s bad enough Hotch has to endure the shame of being mated to an Alpha, but such an incompetent one? If he _had_ to have an Alpha, he would rather have the status of having a truly powerful and domineering Alpha as his mate, at the very least. They could make an unstoppable team. Instead, he has this trembling mess. 

“Come on, Reid,” he says, voice dripping in condescension. “Do it. What are you waiting for, an invitation?”

Dr. Reid looks like he saw a ghost, but he steps forward and presses his mouth to Hotch’s neck like he was told. He stills, breathes in, and bites. 

It’s not hard enough. “Goddmanit, break the skin!” Hotch barks. Reid jumps and bites harder. Hotch can feel his teeth sinking into his flesh, and then the soft pop of his gland being punctured underneath. 

_Phew._ The air gets hot, real hot. Hotch is sweating. The room tips. He takes in a deep breath but it doesn’t help. He makes a pair of fists, clenches them, rolls his spine and tries to stand tall. His stomach is curling and unfurling and he may vomit right there on the floor. Pheromones, hormones, all sorts of chemicals that he’s never paid any mind to are pushing for dominance inside his body and making a real mess of things. His heart is beating fast, thumping, jumping. His breaths are haggard, his eyes darting, his legs are bowing in. He’s got a thick wave of arousal crashing down and swelling back up, frustration coiling like a snake, and a single minded obsession pinpointing itself onto the one person he wants to think of the least. 

“Fuck,” he slurs. 

Dr. Reid is backing away. He smells like Alpha. He smells like Highbred Alpha. _He smells just like Alpha._ Dr. Reid is his Alpha. Goddamnit. He doesn’t want an Alpha, not even a Highbred Alpha. He doesn’t _want_ Dr. Reid!

“Fuck!” he swears. He runs a hand down his face and tries to banish all the feelings away but they're stuck in there like glue. “Fuck, I need to go home.”

The Official takes the paperwork and deposits it into a manilla file folder. “That’s fine. We’re all finished. Thank you, Gentleman. Your bonding certificates will be sent out in the post tomorrow. Please keep the card with you at all times.” 

Reid nods dumbly. He looks at Hotch, frozen still. 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Hotch says. “You can leave.”

He gulps. There’s something Reid wants to say and it irks him that he won’t come out with it. “What, Reid?”

“Well, uh, Mr. Hotchner, Sir, do you have, uh, anyone picking you up?”

“No,” Hotch says. He’s got to be back to work in less than a half hour. 

“Uh…” Reid shuffles his feet. “I don’t think I should leave you, uh, alone, with 75.4% of your pheromones ...activated.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’ve scented?” He can’t begin to deal with Reid’s awkward jargon at the moment. “Talk like a normal person, _Doctor.”_

“I’m not a medical doctor,” Reid scoffs. It’s the first harsh emotion he's had so far and it isn’t threatening in the least. “I meant, for your safety…”

“I’m perfectly fine handling myself. Leave,” he hisses. 

Reid looks like he wants to cry, and he turns on his heel. There’s a small moment of hesitation, though; Hotch thinks maybe he’s going to Alpha up and command him to stop being controlling, but he doesn’t. The moment passes, and he quivers, falls, scampers away with his tail in between his legs.

Some Alpha. 

Hotch is screwed. 

. . . 

Hotch barely makes it back to work. He had to feel the hot pinpricks of predatory eyes on him the entire time and fend off several Alphas. He reeks of Omega and it’s a wonder he made it back unscathed. The only possible reason he’s still standing is that he’s got enough muscle and authority to give even the more powerful Alphas some pause. It would take alot of guts to try and ambush an FBI agent, even if he does smell like sex incarnate.

He barges into Rossi’s office and looks wildly around the room, never landing on Rossi himself. 

“What’s wrong, Aaron?” he says. The ass still sounds sympathetic.

“I need you to drive me home. Now.” It’s not fun asking Rossi for this favor, and it’s not fun knowing he can discern exactly why he’s asking. It’s taking a great deal to make him stoop this low, and Rossi silently respects it. He doesn’t ask questions, just accompanies him to his car. Maybe not a complete ass, then. 

Hotch is itchy and squirming in the passenger seat. His palms are sweaty and he thinks that Rossi isn’t driving nearly as fast as he ought to. His neck is sore and throbbing with a deep, dull ache. He has a persistent need to reach up and rub it, soothe it and acknowledge it, but he keeps his hands clamped firmly on his knees and he shuts his eyes waiting for the drive to be over. He needs to be home. 

Being back inside his house doesn’t really help much, though, it just leaves him alone with his feelings. Damn his feelings. He fills up a cup of water with a shaky hand and it spills down the front of his shirt. _“Fuck.”_

He throws the glass into the sink and it shatters. In the living room he starts breathing heavy and he’s walking away with the couch cushions under his arms. He throws them into his upstairs closet. He shakes his head. His shoulder is throbbing. All his pillows get tossed inside. His comforter, a pile of dirty laundry. He goes inside and the door shuts behind him. It’s dark, small, and he can hear his heartbeat reverberating off the walls. 

The blankets are comfy and the couch cushions a bit scratchy, but Hotch doesn’t care. No chance in hell he’s going to be remotely comfortable any time soon. He’s thrashing and squirming in his messy pile and the only thing he can get out are frustrated grunts. 

He starts slipping into a rhythm, grinding his hips against a pillow, and gripping at the blankets. A coil in his belly tightens as he goes. He can’t feel anything other than the hot pressure on his groin and the dull ache spreading from his neck. It’s deep, throbbing, and pushing farther out with each passing minute. First his chest turns achy and his heart squeezes then pangs, his arms are second, then his legs, and before he can realize what’s happening, every single part of him is drenched in hot ache. He’s sweating, his belly is still coiled, he’s thrusting against the pillow. It smells like dirty laundry and stuffy breaths, and he hates it. He groans, cries out, grips the sheets harder and needs something but doesn’t know what it is. 

Underneath him this twinge of something that makes his nose twitch, and a tiny part of his brain starts pulsing, _pulsing._ He dips his head, nose pressed against his wet shirt, and then he’s got it. He hones in on it, sniffs it deep, rough, desperate. 

It’s _Blue. Chemical. Arid and spacey like the feeling of flying 37,000 feet in the air._

He grunts, thrusts, the coil is so tight it might snap. His neck is pulsing in the shape of his Alpha’s bite and his _Blue_ scent is _screaming_ at him-

He screams, himself; a strong, fierce growl, terrifying and desperate. He releases into his pants and sinks down in resignation. After what feels like an eternity he gathers up the strength to pull his pants down and kicks them away. He keeps his shirts on and his chin tucked down, and his body sets up for another round of hot, heated coiling. 

It’s going to be quite a while before his heat lets up. This is only the beginning. 

Morning comes and he hasn’t slept a wink. His arm is tingly and numb underneath his chest but he can’t be bothered to move it. He feels like he’s been hit by a bus and his mouth is bone dry. 

Faintly, somewhere in the distance, he can hear his phone chiming. He doesn’t care, doesn’t have the energy to. His heat is swelling up again and he needs release. He needs to mate. He _needs._

He cums again, this time with a broken whine, and his phone isn’t chiming anymore, but his doorbell is going off. At a time like this, he wishes everyone would just give him some goddamn space. It goes off again and again until he’s leaving the closet, just barely stumbling downstairs with soft light hitting him, and making his already pounding headache that much worse. 

Without thinking too much, he slams the door open and sunlight shoots in like a bullet. He staggers back, blinded, holds him hand up to shield his eyes, and clutches tighter to the pillow he’s got pressed up to his naked groin. 

“Agent Hotchner…?” It’s Reid, his Alpha. 

_His Alpha._

He slams the door right back closed and falls against the wall, sliding down it until he’s got his bare ass on the hardwood floor and the pillow sitting useless in his lap. _Blue._ “Go away!”

“...A-Agent. Hotchner? Hello? I’m sorry,” Reid is saying outside. “Agent Rossi called me… he’s, uh, concerned about you. It’s been three days since anyone’s been in touch with you.”

Three days…? Has he been out for three days...?

“I didn’t… uhm. I didn’t think I should come by unannounced, but I don’t have your cell phone number, not that you were picking up anyway, and Agent Rossi said—” 

“I’m _fine,_ Reid!” he hisses. “Leave. You’ve seen me, I’m fine, now leave.” 

“Agent Rossi wanted to make sure—”

Aaron hits the floor with his fist. “What, is Rossi your goodman Alpha? What do you care what he wants? Why don’t you make a decision of your own, huh, Reid? Jesus!” He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thump, and a sharp pain shoots through him. Great. 

There’s silence. 

“I’m sorry…” It’s so small he almost misses it. 

A breathy, incredulous laugh slips out; it’s borderline hysterical and Hotch wants to scream. He wants to rage and throw something heavy, fill his first with his blankets and pillows, thrust his hips into the- fuck, _no._ His belly is coiling and he’s sweating. Reid’s scent is thick in the air. 

“Just— just leave. _Now._ I mean it,” he barks. It takes more effort than he has to sound like a normal functioning person instead of the heavy ball of violent arousal that he is.

“I’m not leaving.” Hotch wants to break apart into a million little pieces that this is the hill Reid wants to die on. 

“REID. NOW,” he says. He’s getting desperate. Way too desperate. His neck is throbbing incessantly. It’s hot to the touch and two licks away from burning him. His hips are thrusting up on their own accord. He wants it all to stop. 

“I need to make sure—”

His fingernails scratch painfully on the hardwood. He needs his blankets. He’s thrusting hard. Sweat is sliding down his temple. Deep breaths in and out. He can’t control them. _Blue._ The coil is so fucking tight. 

“If you don’t leave this very goddamn seco-” _Blue. Blue. BLUE. BLUE BLUEBLUEBLUEBLUE “Fu—ahh!_

He snaps, grinds up hard, goddamn snarls like an alley cat, cums onto the underside of the pillow, digs his nails into the floor, and swears under his breath. 

There’s silence. 

“Reid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t hear Reid leave, but he smells it. The Blue that was strong in the air fades and the stringy _Chemicals_ don’t burn so bad in his nostrils anymore. 

He’s relieved, slumped back and sighing. The scent is lingering and his nose twitches. He lets out a broken whine and fucks up into the weight of the pillow until he releases again. All he can think about is the faint _Blue_ he left behind. 

Hotch really wants his heat to end.


	2. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Hotch was designated a mate by the Council and it turned out to be twigy Dr. Reid. Hotch went to bonding-induced heat and weathered it out alone in his house.

He’s homebound for over a week. It’s humiliating. It’s the longest heat that he’s ever had by miles. According to the internet it’s a common occurrence for recently bonded Omegas, but prolonged even further in the event of an absent Alpha. 

Back at the Breau, there’s less chatter than he expected, but he figures the situation is being kept on a need to know basis. 

He’s settling in his office, feeling nearly back to normal when he smells _Blue, stringy chemicals, Aird and spacey like he’s flying 40,000 miles up in the air._

No, no. _No._

A knock on his door has him jumping up and straightening his tie. “Come in.” 

It’s JJ, and she’s looking nervous. “We have a case,” she says. She hands him a folder and he takes it as a promise of normality. “If you’re up to it, Sir.”

He chooses to ignore that. “What is it?”

She smiles, nods. “Disorganized killer. Portland, Oregon. Seven victims, all high-risk lifestyle white women between 20 and 25 years of age.” 

“Perfect,” he says. “Wheels up in 30. Tell the team.”

She turns to leave. “You got it, Boss.”

“Wait—” he says, “JJ, is… is… is. You know what? Never mind.”

She raises her eyebrows and goes.

. . .

He is.

He’s here. 

He corners him in the break room and pushes him up against the counter. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses. 

“—ah. Uh, Agent Rossi invited me on a case,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

Reid needs to stop apologizing like it’s going to fix anything at all. It’s not going to break the bond, and it’s not going to quell his anger. 

Hotch narrows his eyes, pushing his hand down on Reid’s chest harder. “And why did you say yes?” 

“I, well. Agent Rossi is one of the most decorated profilers in the FBI, he’s a prolific biographical author, he—”

“Enough,” Hotch snaps. “Enough about Rossi. He’s an Alpha for God’s sake. You talk about him like he’s— you know what? I’m done talking about this. You’re coming on this _one_ case and then you’re backing off. Understand?”

Reid clears his throat and nods. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Good. Wheels up in 15. Make sure you have a change of clothes.”

“Rossi had me pack—” He snaps his mouth shut, blushes. “I mean, I have a go bag.”

Aaron stomps out of the break room. He grabs his own bag and heads out early to the tarmac. Not after long, sitting on one of the steps leading up to the jet, Morgan strolls up.

“Hey, Hotch,” he says. “Long ways to Portland, you ready?”

Hotch isn’t in the mood for small talk. “Yes.”

“They new guys coming, did you meet him? Real pretty thing. Looks like a Beta, but he’s an Alpha. Highbred, actually. I couldn’t believe it.” He pulls up his sunglasses and peers at him. “Hotch?”

“We’ve met.” Is all he dares to say. Morgan is souring his already terrible mood with his talk about how flimsy his Alpha is. He doesn’t need to be reminded that he could be mistaken for a Beta. He doesn’t need to be reminded that he has an Alpha at all. He scowls and looks past him at the skyline and watches a flock of birds take flight.

“Woah, Bossman,” his voice wavers. “What’s that on your neck? You get hitched or something?”

No. Hotch’s breath hitches uncomfortably. He stands up and starts pacing. His chest is tight. Morgan can’t stare if he’s up and going. “No, I did not get _hitched._ ”

“You definitely got something,” he chuckles. Just under those sunglasses Hotch knows those beady little eyes are following him like back and forth like a metronome. Morgan’s tone shifts, his posture softens, and he tilts his head to the side. “Hey, man, it’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of. So you got bonded? Good for you. It was bound to happen eventually. Overdue, actually. We wondered ab-”

“I’m not ashamed,” Hotch quipps. He can feel shame wrapped around his heart, pulling so tight he can’t breathe. He is so utterly ashamed. 

“Right, sorry.” Morgan rubs the back of his neck. “Stupid thing to say. So who’s the lucky Alpha?”

“End of discussion,” Hotch says, and the tarmac falls silent except for the whirring of the engine. At least Hotch still has authority over the Alphas in his unit. It feels good to exert control and be respected. Respect he earned, mind you. 

The rest of the team saunters up and starts boarding over the next ten minutes. They settle around the seats and begin the debriefing after they’re safely stabilized in the air. Hotch wonders how many feet up they are. 

“33,847 miles,” Reid says to his left. 

“What?” Hotch shakes his head. Did Reid read his mind?

“I, uh. You were looking out the window… very intently,” he says, then whispers, “I’m not a profiler per se, but I do have a bit of an advantage when it comes to you. Bonding creates neural pathways between Alpha and Omega. They’re spacial, not physical, so I, well, _we_ have a tendency to generate a vague understanding of each other's internal monologues.”

“You can read my mind, great,” Hotch mutters. He picks up the case file and tries to will away the rock sitting heavy in his stomach. 

“Sorry...” Reid mumbles. Hotch doesn’t care. 

The Unsub is textbook white male in his 30’s killing high risk women to exert feelings of power and control. Hotch doesn’t need any extra help with the case, especially not his computer-brained highbred Alpha who doesn;t know the first thing about psychology. 

“I have a pHD in psychology, actually. A Bachelors in forensics,” Reid mutters absentmindedly beside him. Hotch doesn't even think he’s awake. 

They’re figured out the profile before they even land, and they’re presenting it to the precinct in record time. The head detective at the Portland Police Department is nothing if not skeptical about the team and watching them like a hawk as they move about. 

Garcia’s voice is coming in sweet through Morgan’s cell as they’re huddled around a conference room table bouncing ideas off each other. They go over the possible career paths of the Unsub and where his kill zones originate. Garia has it narrowed down to fifteen possible suspects while Hotch is splitting them into teams. 

They’re about to leave, Hotch and JJ, when the Head Detective, Detective Harken, stands in the doorway blocking their path. Hotch shoots him a scowl. 

“You’re in my way, Detective Harken,” he says. 

“How about an Excuse me? That’s no way for an Omega to behave,” he says. Hotch’s breath hitches. Not _here._

“There’s a killer on the loose,” he asserts. 

“Not a very good listener, are you? Didn’t your Alpha teach you matters?” He laughs. He won't move. Hotch feels JJ fidget nervously behind him. 

This never happened while he was unmated. Not while he wasn’t stinking of new-bond pheromones. Detective Harken smells a challenge, a fresh Omega to be plucked right out from under his Alpha. 

“Didn’t your Captain teach you how to be a detective? I don’t see you tracking down any leads. _That’s_ why they called me in: to do _your_ job for you.”

JJ is holding back a few choice words, he can feel the resentment rolling of her in waves. He’s not supposed to speak to the LEOs in this manner, but he’s not going to let an Alpha walk all over him. 

“That’s not—” he starts, but Hotch pushes him aside and he gives way.

“I have work to do, Detective” Hotch calls out behind him without looking back. They walk quickly out of the precinct and head towards Portland’s industrial district to start scaling the last crime scene for clues. 

They’re out all day until Hotch phones them in and gathers them back at the station. The only lead he and JJ found was a possible sliver of DNA evidence on the bottom of the Unsub’s shoe, and the truth of the matter is that it could have come from anywhere. 

Morgan and Reid didn’t come up with much else other than a newfound companionship between the two. Hotch is watching Reid duck his head as Morgan messes his hair and calls him _Pretty Boy._ He finds it hard to swallow with a dry mouth. 

Prentiss and Rossi have a list of potential suspects they gathered from high-risk workers in the area to narrow down Garcia’s even faster. They feed them to her and she begins her checks while the rest of the team decides to call it a night because At 9:45pm, everyone is exhausted. They head to a hotel within walking distance of the precinct

Hotch is laying in bed wishing he had the warm body heat of an Alpha next to him. He hasn’t wished that in _years._ He wants everything to go back to normal. He wants an easy, unexpected life, no heats, no mating, no boding, no nothing. 

He’s far past that. He’s got an activated gland and pheromones to boot. Instincts he's _never_ felt before and itching him so deep it’s hard to tell what’s real. Every fiber of his being is telling him to go to his mate, be protected, be close. Omegas used to need the protection of their Alpha if they wished to survive… _still do_ to a lesser extent. Even with laws being as they are today, there’s an overwhelming amount of cases involving sexual assault against Omegas, many resulting in death. 

Hotch has never been one of those Omegas that needed protection. He never received his letter, never started producing enough Omegan pheromone to elicit enough of a response from an Alpha, not when he’s trained himself to appear so fierce, anyway.

It’s different with his bond in place and his neck aching. Across the hotel room, Reid is shuffling restlessly through a stack of papers with a chewed up pen dangling from his lips and he will _not_ shut up. He isn’t speaking, per se, but his thoughts are racing a mile a minute and Hotch can hear them like the steady thrum of a hummingbird. 

He covers his head with his pillow, wants to slip off into sleep and be far, far away from this cramped, _Blue, Chemical_ hotel room. 

Eventually gets his wish, nodding off to the legato of Reid’s thoughts dancing in his head, and he hates how much he loves the way it feels. It isn’t the warm heat of an Alpha curled up around him, but it’s enough to make his mind stop complaining. 

In the morning they’re back working through the evidence when Garcia pings them with a name. They’re outside an average looking house, guns cocked and legs taught, when Hotch gives the order to move in. Prentiss and Morgan take to the west side of the house while Rossi and JJ go East. Reid is not yet qualified for field work and hangs back with the local officers.

Hotch is glaring at the house. How _dare_ it have the gall to look so commonplace with the horrors it hides, and he starts heading towards the front entrance. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get far when a hand grips at his shoulder and he’s held forcefully in his tracks. 

“Stand down, Agent Hotchner.” Detective Harken says behind him, Alpha voice grating much like gravel. 

He shrugs it off. “I don’t take orders from you,” he hisses. It sounds a lot more like an implication than he’d like. The FBI doesn’t work for the PPD, that’s all he means. 

He steps closer, undeterred. “You’re in no condition to go in there. You reek. You’re too close to your last heat.” 

That is not okay. Hotch looks around, hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. It feels _wrong_ , a deep seated unsettling wrongness, for this Alpha, this strange Alpha to be talking about _his_ heats like it’s commonplace information. 

You don’t discuss heats with an Omega unless you’re their Doctor, or you’re mated. Detective Harken is out of line. _Far_ out of line. He’s posturing against his freshly raging bond scent and starting to frenzy. 

“Don’t— do _not_ go there, Detective.” Hotch tries to side step him but he’s large with a wide chest and he can’t get around quick enough. “Step aside. I have a job to do.”

A frown lines the Alpha’s face and he crosses his arms. “An Omega’s only true job is at home. Your Alpha must be very ashamed of you, running around playing detective. I could protect you,” he says. Hotch shudders at the idea; his bond mark pangs with disgust. Detective Harken is starting to rut over his scent. He’s already started with the obsessive protection, and he’s sliding fast into possession. 

Hotch wants Harken to disappear. He wants to be rushing inside the house and ensuring the safety of his teammates but here he is locked in place by a foul-smelling Alpha and being toyed with like putty. It makes his head throb. 

At a time like this, he could really use his Alpha. _No._ He could use _an_ Alpha, a big one, bigger than Detective Harken, bigger than him. He could hide behind his superior body- _no,_ fuck! _He_ is strong. _He_ can deal with it himself. He doesn’t need an alpha. Not now, not over this. _Goddamn it._

“Move!” Hotch barks. “Get out of my way, _now._ ”

“Don’t strain yourself, Omega, It’s not good for your cycle,” he says, looking at him darkly. 

“Don’t—” 

“Back off, Hark,” another PPD officer growls from behind Hotch. He spins around, the boom of his voice knocking in his head, and feels like a lamb trapped between two wolves. 

“Mind your own business, Neil,” Detective Harken growls. “I saw him first.” 

“Doesn’t work like that, Hark,” he laughs bitterly. “Are you okay, sweet thing? Is Hark bothering you? I can protect you.” He cocks his head and lets his eyes slide all over his body in the most agonizingly intrusive sort of way. He doesn’t need his help. 

HE DOESN’T NEED ANYONE’S HELP.

“Both of you, stand down. That’s an order,” he says. His voice is begging to quiver and bow under the stres, but it holds steady. “I am a _FBI agent_ and if either of you take one step closer I will have you federally prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

Neil scoffs and scents the air; it’s putrid and bitter. “Fucking Feds. What are they thinking letting an Omega on board? That shiny badge doesn’t mean anything.”

Detective Harken is still fuming, rutting enough to be scraping his boots against the concrete, and he looks like he wants to pounce. Hotch can handle it. He’s had FBI level combat training for years and he can hold his own. “Don’t move a muscle, Detective,” Hotch growls. 

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?” He takes a step closer. Hotch can feel his possessive stench growing strong in the air. “Where’s your Alpha, huh? He’s not here to protect you, is he? I’ll have to do it for him.”

Detective Harken lunges forward, face strewn in a wild wide eyed fevor, and Hotch gets caught in his grip, ironclad Alpha knuckles holding tight on his forearms. He cocks his elbow back, twists his arm, and Harken’s hand pops off his arm. He’s snarling, eyes red, and Hotch has never felt more alive, more full of hate. He knows exactly what to do, he’s grappled with enough Unsubs to stay seethingly calm in a situation like this. 

Neil comes up from the side, hissing, eyes red, grabbing at Harken’s neck. He’s got him in a chokehold, spins him around and presses him forearm into his throat. “Don’t work, little thing,” he growls, smirking at Hotch. “You’re not hurt are you? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, I swear.”   
It feels like the air is thin and moves slow. _Now_ he has never been full of hate. It’s a pressing feeling inside burning him up and he knows he’s about to explode. Detective Neil is the most detestable Alpha he’s ever met; his grimy hair, sickening smile, his patronising grasp at control. Hotch is _not_ hurt. He does _not_ need Neil’s help. He had the situation under control _himself_.

He grabs Neil’s shoulder, pulls him forward and swings his knee forcefully up into his gut; Harken lets out a startled gasp, crumples forward, and Hotch kicks him down to the ground. Harken staggers back and Hotch glares with a deadly rage back at him.

He doesn’t need an Alpha. He doesn’t need a goddamn Alpha; he’s Unit Chief of the most prestigious units in the FBI. He’s a fucking Omega, but that shouldn’t imply a single thing. 

He glares down at Neil. “Still want to help?” he growls. Neil is looking at him in astonished horror and shakes his head. He’s halfway down the sidewalk within the minute and he’s not going to return. 

Hotch spins and heads back to the van. He’s missed his opportunity for the raid and he’ll have to sit this one out. 

He leans up against the side of the van and lets his haggard breathing slow. 

“You okay?” 

Spencer is sitting on the seat of the van with his feet dangling out the open door. 

Hotch opens an eye and peers at him. “Fine,” he says. 

_No thanks to you,_ he thinks.

Reid id fiddling with his bag and says, “I looked like you had it covered. I didn’t think you needed my help. Sorry, I didn’t know…” 

Hotch groans. The universe must hate him. Now he’s got to regulate his thoughts; there’s nowhere he can hide.

“Just forget it.” _Stop being so practical_ “I did have it covered. I can handle myself.” _Obviously. Look at you, anyway, what would you have done?_

Reid is looking at him pained, and he wants to wipe that look right off his face. 

“Look, just… leave me alone, okay? I don’t care if we’re bonded. You’re not— you're not my Alpha,” his voice nearly breaks as he says it. “Just do your job and I’ll do mine. When we’re back in D.C. you can go back to wherever it is you came from.”

“Vegas,” he says.

Hotch turns his head. “What?”

“Vegas. That’s where I came from.” _Summoned from out of state, the Council rarely summons, Hotch can feel Reid think. 3.45% chance of occurrence._

_3%? Of course. Nothing about this is normal._

“I didn’t ask for this, you know,” Spencer whispers. He’s looking into the distance and thrumming his fingers against the seat. 

Hotch straightens himself up and heads over towards the house again, past the wreckage of the rutting Alphas, and in towards his team. He didn’t ask for this either.

. . .

A week passes, then two. Life is slowly falling back into routine. For everyone except Hotch. Inside his head lives a flurry of emotion that isn’t quite able to settle. It’s a cold winter blizzard and all he wants is for the storm to pass.

Only thing is, he can’t do it on his own. Omegas aren’t built for solitude. It’s a wonder he made it as long as he did by himself, but then he didn’t have the pull of a bond leading him right into temptation. An Omega could slowly drive themself crazy isolating from the touch it needs from their Alpha. The chemicals that the Alpha secretes acts both as a soothing agent and as a vital vitamin that the Omega uses to balance their levels. Hotch is starting to feel the effects of withdrawal and it’s far from pretty. 

With Reid hanging around the Breau at Rossi’s insistence, it’s the only thing keeping him from jumping over the edge. 

He can see in the way that Reid moves around the pen that he feels out of place and unwanted. He wonders why he doesn’t just go, but he’d rather not think too long on that lest it bring up some uncomfortable conclusions. 

He’s slumped over his desk barely able to focus on paperwork when the blizzard snows him in. He’s looking out the frosty windows and the snow is piled up so high he can’t see a thing. He’s cold. He has no heater. He doesn’t like to be alone. He needs…

“Agent Hotchner?” 

Reid is standing in the doorway. Blue. _You don’t look so well._

_Go away._

Reid doesn’t leave. “Are you alright?”

_You goddamn know I’m not,_ he thinks. “Fine.”

“There’s a condition that can come on for Omegas who shun, uh- _touch-_ it’s—” 

“Not in the mood, Reid.” 

_It’s called Omegan psychosomatic sensory deprivation._

“Reid, I said, stop. Don't even think it,” he says. 

“Let me help you. Please?” He’s looking at him so longingly. “You didn’t even try to get to know me...”

“You’re an Alpha, and a meek one at that. What else is there to know?”

“I’m not meek where it counts, Agent Hotchner. Is this about the altercation in Portland? I didn’t think you’d need the help.”

“I didn’t.” 

“You don’t seem like the type of,” _Omega_ “man that would want his Alpha running to his defense for him. I respect you far too much to assume you need saving.” 

Hotch picks up his head and looks at Ried for the first time. He’s standing tall with a slender build and despite the nervous twitch in his fingers, the reluctance in his eyes, there’s a natural Alpha air about him. _Highbred,_ he thinks. 

“Even if I am highbred, yes,” he murmurs. “You know, I was fairly certain the Council brought me all the way here for you due to your well respected position in the FBI as well as your numerous outstanding achievements. Only a Highbred for the Omega that defies all odds.”

“I guess I still am certain about that,” he continues. “I’m sorry I wasn’t what you were hoping for.”

“Reid…” he casts his eyes down. He can’t bear to see his Alpha apologize. The thought churns his stomach. It’s biological. “It’s… I’m sorry ,” he says on impulse. “I guess I figured if I ever did get an Alpha, after waiting 10 years past my prime, they’d be… older. Stronger than me, perhaps. But— I didn’t want one to begin with. I’m not sure what I expected.” 

_Not me,_ Reid thinks. “Even if I’m not what you… wanted… I could still help with the symptoms. We only have to wait the bond out for a year, then we can dispute it in court like you want. But until then… the way youre feeling is only going to get worse. The Omegan response to the bonding process requires physical touch to quell the processes going on in your endocrine system. The hormones can’t be activated without the secretion of Alpha activator, found in, uh, my skin in particular. It doesn’t have to be anything other than medical need,” he says. 

“Not interested,” hotch replies. The blizzard is deafening.

“Agent Hotchner… Hotch.” He steps in the room. Blue. “Please?”

Reid looks borderline depressed with his shoulders slumped forward. He’s leaning in towards his directions and looking at him with longing in his eyes. _There’s something in that head of yours about Alpha bonding response too, isn’t there?_

Reid nods. There is.

Hotch isn’t a needy Omega seeking response from his Alpha. Hotch is handling this well enough on his own and would have continued to, too, if Reid weren’t looking so desperate to fix his hormonal balances. It’s just a touch, as Reid- _Dr._ Reid- pointed out. Purely to fix the concentration of chemicals inside. 

Chemical. Hotch blinks. Blue. 

Reid’s scent is suddenly the only thing he can focus on. “Fine,” he mutters, breathing in. “Come here.”

Reid lets out a deep breath and joins him at his desk. Hotch stands up, looks him up and down like an appraisal and grabs roughly at his thighs, hiking him up and sitting him down ontop his desk. He leans in, presses his body close, and wraps his arms around his chest. Reid deflates, wraps his legs around his waist and closes his eyes. 

_Thank you,_ Reid thinks.

Hotch is a particularly proud Omega, always as has been. Reid’s thanks spur him inside and prickles at his heart. It’s not praise; he’s not keening to praise. He’s just- he’s glad that he was the one that was able to help. Help Reid help him? He’s not sure, doesn’t want to think about it at the moment. 

_Quiet,_ Hotch responds. He doesn’t want to ruin the way that the room is still and everything feels like it’s perfectly in order. Resting with his body pressed up close against his potential mate, he’s no closer to biological perfection that he could ever hope to be. It’s his natural inclination to calm from touch. 

_The pituitary gland is a natural workhorse in the body producing near constant amounts of hormones and sending them off into the bloodstream. In Omegas, the hormone responsible for production of both anti-stress and fertility is-_

“I said be quiet,” Hotch mumbles. 

“Sorry,” Reid replies. “Hard to stop them. Overactive mind.”

_-is omgegicortisol. This hormones activates the pheromone gland located on the anterior neck of the Omega-_

“Reid,” Hotch tightens his grip. “Were you reading up on Omegas? I’m not a science experiment.”

“I wasn’t,” he says, dropping his head. “I remember everything. I read a book once, back in highschool when we had to learn about anatomy. It popped into my mind. I’ll try not to think about it.”

“That long ago?” He brings his head back, tries to look at Reid, but he’s got his head down on his shoulder. 

“Yes. Eidetic memory.” 

Hotch humms thoughtfully. _Is it working?_

Spencer nods. _I feel it. Do you?_

Hotch nods too. Stress is melting away from his body in droves. He feels lighter, can think more clearly. He’s happy, and there’s no more snow blocking the windows. The storm has passed. Reid is so warm. He feels like he’s flying 42,000 feet in the air.

_Thank you,_ he thinks, and he means it.


	3. Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch and Reid confront their bond... eventually. Right?

Months pass. Hotch isn’t due for another heat for two more. Given the complete overhaul of his entire life, he’s adjusting moderately well. It doesn’t hurt that his Alpha is almost always within spitting distance. 

The nights when he’s at home alone in DC are becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. Even when Reid is twenty feet over in an adjacent room, his nerves are calm. With him across town in the apartment he must have rented, his nerves are firing at unfathomable speeds asking for something he doesn’t know how to give them. 

Blue. Chemical and spacey. 

Reid can’t be around 24/7, and he resents the fact that he considers it. 

He hates the fact that he and Reid have come to a mutual understanding, even if it does mean that he feels more centered than he has in years. 

He hates the way that looking at Reid is becoming less of a chore. 

He hates the way he yearns for him. 

Reid steps in line beside him as he walks into the bullpen. At 5:45am, Reid is never late. He’s synced up their schedules so they walk in together every morning. That, or Reid can trail slightly behind. 

As much as Hotch wants to let him in, really wants to, in the way that his body begs to pull him close and _sniff_ , he still holds firm on the idea of riding this whole ordeal out until the year is up. His mind is stronger than his body, and his body is _strong._

“Morning, Hotch,” Reid says. He extends his hand with a coffee offered and Hotch scoops it up. 

_This is new_ , he thinks. 

“You come down to the pen at 6:15 every morning, and the coffee here is subpar to thay the least,” Reid says, responding readily to his thoughts. “I thought you might enjoy something that isn’t brewed with dollar store coffee beans.” He looks away. “Sorry?”

Hotch is still standing in the same spot, hand burning on the paper cup, and he takes a sip. It’s smooth and rich; it goes down easy and brings the hint of a smile to his face before he can squash it down. “Thank you.”

He brings it up to his office and glances down at him filling out paperwork while he sips. When the blinds are closed, he smiles. 

The brush of their fingers was enough to tide him over until afternoon and then he’ll be antsy again for the touch of his Alpha. 

He seeks out Reid whether he means it or not in the conference room where he’s spread out a stack of files neatly on the table. As soon as he enters the room, Reid is up on his feet and staring back at him with expectancy in his eyes. 

Hotch doesn't stop walking forward until he’s pressed up against Reid’s chest, and even then he doesn’t show any signs of slowing down as he reaches out and grabs the hair at the back of his neck, pulling it back, and exposing his gland in a deliberately vulnerable fashion.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, grated and rough like weathered rocks against his neck. He doesn’t, and Hotch takes it as an invitation to breathe in deep. Blue hits like a freight train, seeps into the darkest recesses of his mind.

“Fuck,” he says, in a daze. His legs start to quiver. Reid spins them around, pushes him up against the side of the table so he won’t fall to the floor. 

“Are you okay?” He hasn’t moved back yet; Hotch’s nose is still pressed up hot against his neck. 

“Yes.” Hotch nods. He shakes the water from his head and straightens himself out. With a renewed sense of shock, he whips his head toward the conference room doors but finds that no one was paying attention to his little display with his Alpha. 

“I’m fine,” he adds. “Keep up the good work with...” He looks down at the files. “With the case.” He’s lost all semblance of anything that isn’t related to soaring places and cool blue skies. 

He’s good again until it’s time to leave, and he corners Reid in the elevators like he always does, or has, every day since their talk in his office. Reid backs up into the corner as he advances; it’s a delicate dance between the two of them, neither playing quite the right role but not daring to either. 

Hotch bites the skin of his neck, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to remember the taste for a few more hours. Enough to tide him over. It’s strong but musky, the way an Alpha should be, but it’s sweet and tender too. He licks the spot and kisses it, pays no mind to the way that Reid is groaning in the deepest part of his throat. 

When he’s peeled back and panting, he doesn’t feel any more sated than he did a moment before. _More_ is the only thought on his mind. 

“Reid…” he says. He’s looking at him like a tall glass of water that he intends to drink. “I can’t…”

Reid looks away, bites his lip. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks. 

Hotch wants to cradle his face, tell him he’s got nothing to be sorry for, but he holds it back. Knows it’s just his Omega response kicking in.

He knows _this_ is his Omega kicking in as well, but he’s not nearly as adept to quell this one, and he says, “I can’t go home alone.”

Big eyes shoot up to meet his, making him feel the familiar push of words stream into his consciousness. It’s become as natural as breathing to feel Reid’s thoughts alongside his own. Frantic and clustered as he once thought they wore, he doesn’t think he can live without the background noise any longer. 

_You don’t have to,_ Reid bites his lip, unsure in his own invitation. 

Hotch leans forward and kisses him on the lips; wet and warm, they slide together. A warm rush flows through him, blue spacey sky ruffles his hair. Reid’s scent encapsulates him. He feels like he’s home. 

He takes Reid by the hand and leads him to his SUV.

. . . 

Reid spends most nights at Hotch’s because it’s practical, or at least that's what Hotch tells himself. Having his Alpha close only feels so satisfying because he’s programmed to feel that way. 

On the next case, Reid comes along as a part of the team. Hotch doesn’t bother to imagine the conversations that went on behind closed doors as that decision was made. 

Halfway through the case, he chides himself for doubting that Reid could be a valuable asset to the team. With hundreds of thousands of books and materials at his disposal, Reid is blowing through information at lightning speeds and connecting the dots with more efficiency than any computer he’s ever seen. 

If only the rest of the team could hear what goes on inside his head, too. Numbers, phrases, conceptualized ideas. Sentences flying by so fast he can only catch the last word. There’s facts swirling all around; everything is floating in a vast and spacey expanse with no discernible connection that Hotch can see, not until Reid starts moving and shifting his ideals into a pattern, a flow, a conscious stream of thought more coherent for his mind. 

Hotch is in awe of him, of everything he can do, no longer wonders why his status is as high as it is, only why he isn’t arrogant and cocky when he would have the right. 

They catch the unsub in record time, and there’s no question that it was Reid who moved the investigation along so quickly. One part of Hotch wants to show him off like a prized possession and the other wants to ignore every bit of it. 

They touch down late at night in DC time and shuffle out onto the airstrip with sleepy eyes. Hotch doesn’t bat an eye as Reid slips into the passenger side of his SUV, just makes sure he’s buckled up and drives home. 

That’s how it goes for the next few cases and all the slow periods in between. Hotch has yet to address it, and he knows Reid would never bring it up himself so it’s shoved into the corner and ignored; he’s not going to examine the fact that Reid’s scent cuddled up to him at night has brought him more comfort and stability than he’s ever experienced. 

Hotch wakes up in a cold sweat one morning, hair plastered to his forehead, and he jumps out of the bed like it’s made of fire. “Where’s’goin?” Reid slurs in semi consciousness. 

“Out, out, you need to leave.” Hotch grabs a pair of dress pants that Reid folded neatly on the dresser the night before. “Get dressed. Now.” 

He sits up and rubs the sleepiness from his eyes. “What’s going on? Is there a case?”

There’s no case, and Hotch won’t be able to go on a case for a little while, anyway. “No.” He doesn’t elaborate. 

Reid is looking at him with squinted eyes that are clearly profiling. The look on his face goes from something of confusion and helplessness (from not being bold enough to ask) to complete and utter understanding.

A heavy weight sinks down in the pit of his stomach. With the back of his hand, he wipes away a sheen of sweat that’s gathered on his forehead and he turns away so Reid can’t see the shame. The bathroom is a good place to hide away and he locks the door behind him, barking, “See yourself out.”

He sits down on the side of the bathtub and presses his thigh together while he rests his head in his hands and deep breathes. Reid’s steady stream of thought dissipates, as does the intensity of his scent, until he’s sitting alone in his house with his stomach coiling into a tight spring.

Sweaty hands grip the rim of the tub. A tall tent has sprung up in his lap causing him to groan and start rubbing his hand down against it, pressing his cock into the side of his thigh as he does. There’s a _need_ inside of him like an itch that he can’t quite scratch, and even cumming doesn’t fully satisfy him. It’s like putting a bandaid over a wound that’s bleeding out. 

With a steady pace and firm fingers, he reaches in his briefs and frees his cock, stroking it tightly. His legs are wide apart with his feet planted firmly on his floor, and he tips back his head, letting out a low moan. His cock is pulsing. His breathing is speeding up, and his heart is hammering in his chest. 

It feels so _good_. He needs his release, but he’s not quite there yet. The itch is getting more pronounced, more needy, and his feet are taking him back to the bedroom where a wave of scent hits him like a brick. 

_Blue. Chemical. Arid and spacey like he’s flying 60,000 feet in the air._ For a second he feels weightless. 

The scent nudges the itch back into the corner but it’s still there. He’s cocooned himself in a mess of sheets on the side that Reid always lays, and he’s thrusting his hips into the mattress while clutching a fistful of blanket to his nose. He bucks up a few more times, breathes in deep, and lets the coil snap as he cums to the scent of his Alpha. 

It’s only just beginning. 

JJ calls him later in the day and he has a distinctly hard time fumbling with his phone before he manages to answer. “Hotchner.” His voice is stripped of its usual bravado. 

“Hotch…?” she answers. “We have a case.” 

Hotch absentmindedly slips his hand down between his thighs and rubs. “A case?”

“Yes. Can you get down here now?” 

He grinds hard against his palm, feels the heavy weight and is pleased by it. JJ’s beta voice sounds far away and unimportant but he manages, “No.” Then clears his throat. “No, I, something came up. I won’t be going.” And he hangs up. 

Knowing that there’s a case shouldn’t bother him so much, not to the extreme that it’s making him ball his fasts in the sheets and growl with frustration into the pillow, but it’s not really the case that’s the problem. 

It’s the fact that his Alpha is going to be thousands of miles away when he needs him most. 

No, Hotch thinks, he doesn’t need him. Pressure from his hand sends a shock wave up his spine and stars float in front of his eyes. He trails his other hand down, down, down, until he feels the wetness of his inner thighs. He presses on his hole and moans; it’s slick and smooth, teaming with sensitive nerves and begging for stimulation. 

An inch to the right there’s a spot on the bed that’s so _blue_ and _spacey_ that it makes his head thrum. He pushes it; it’s ecstasy. Pulling out, plunging it. He strokes his cock and fingers himself at a frantic pace, breathing the same way. It builds up fast and explodes like a firework- he cums all over his fist and clenches down on his fingers. It’s show stopping, wonderful, larger than life- it’s not enough and he needs to do it _again._

Hotch brings the comforter over his head and breathes in the warm air, feels safe and secure in the darkness. It smells like Reid and helps him cum again and again.

Afternoon rolls around, then nightfall, and he’s still in bed, now covered in a heavy layer of sweat. The sheets are soaked in slick and cum and he can’t smell anything except for his own sex. It’s infuriating and puts that itch right back in the forefront of his mind. He wishes he put more thought into it, saved the sheet, balled them up and used them just for smelling, but he hasn’t hasn’t a clear mind since it all started. Not clear enough for pre planning like that. 

By morning he hasn’t slept and he’s rolling around restless and bothered. The lights are off, the room is small, but he’s _yearning_. He needs his Alpha and his body knows it, wants to tell him, scream it at him, scream it from the rooftops so everyone knows. 

His cock is so sore that cumming is starting to become a chore. Only using his fingers isn’t enough. Using his fingers is like trying to cut firewood with a butter knife. He works them in an out, goes for three, then four, contemplates using his fist even. It doesn’t help him to cum; he needs to stroke his cock to make that happen, but dear god, it’s so sore. 

He tenses his thighs, feels his brow strewn in consternation, fucks his fingers in and out until he cums in his fist again. Sweat drips down his forehead, he’s unsettled and unsatisfied; his chest is aching and his mind won’t shut off. 

“A-Alpha,” he grunts brokenly into the pillow. The pain is nearly unbearable, the itch unscratchable. He’s buzzing from head to toe with need and nerves frayed down to the nub. “Oh, god…” 

No one is going to come for him, no one is going to take care of him. His Alpha is halfway around the world chasing down a killer with no time to plug him up and take the edge off his suffering. If only he could feel a _knot_ , his frantic mind supplies, he just needs one good knot and he’ll be full and sated with seed. 

He wails, if not deep enough to be considered more of a growl, but the undertone of longing and helplessness is there. The coil is tightening again and he chokes out a sob, reaches between his sweaty, slick soaked thighs, and starts fingering. 

This time his mind starts whirring; fast and flighty, just like his Alpha. Numbers, so many of them, ideas, theories, concepts that Hotch doesn’t care enough to figure out. His fingers slide in smooth and soft and they hit up against his sensitive spot, make his toes curl and his head fall back. Stroking becomes rhythmic, he uses his other hand on his still sore cock, but pushes past the pain and focuses on that steady stream flowing in his mind- it’s muted but there. It’s Alpha, his Alpha, so Blue, so Intelligent, so Reid. 

His hold clenches around his fingers and he spurts out cum onto his belly. His heart is hammering in his chest, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthump. 

Thumpthumpthump. 

Thump— oh. A weight drops heavy in his belly. The door, someone’s knocking at the door. He kicks off the sheet- they cling to him with half dried sweat and fluids- and he pads down the stairs. The stream is becoming louder, more clear. _72 percent of unmated Alpha with heterozygous allele pairs in one or more helix str—_

Thump thump thump he opens the door. 

“Reid.” He pales. “You’re here. You’re not—”

“I wouldn’t leave while you’re, uh.”

_Blue. Chemical and spacy like you’re 100,000 ft up_

“Get inside. Now.”

Hotch yanks him in by the shirt collar, drags him up the stairs and throws him down onto the bed. Reid brings his hands up to look at them, eyes sliding over the slick that smeared over them, and Hotch can’t bring himself to feel ashamed. _BLUE._

The itch is so close to being scratched, so very close. The scent of his Alpha is burning inside him, igniting every cell, every nerve, every dark needy part. 

He’s on him, ripping off his clothes, burying his face into his neck, rocking his naked hips against his slacks, and pushing him down so they fall back on the mattress together. “Need…” he hisses. 

Reid hasn’t said much, not exactly, but his thoughts are going haywire with questions of consent and half baked statistics and behavioral studies on Omegas. 

Hotch rips his dress shirt, scatters the buttons all over the floor, tugs the rest off his back and licks a stripe up the underside of his arms then bites at the soft flesh. 

_Low percent chance of the Omega displaying atypical behaviors of aggression during heats, induced or naturally occurring,_ he hears. 

Hotch tugs at his pants instead of listening. He can’t focus of any hiring other that the idea of an Alpha cock right underneath that small piece of fabrics, and claws at it with frantic, shaking hands. 

_Only 0.00001853% of hostile Omega mating tendencies naturally occur without provocation from outside aggravating forces._

Hotch tunes it out, focuses on the hum and drip of his voice instead, the sound and familiarity. Reid’s thick Alpha cock is free and sitting heavy in his lap. It’s _huge_ , even by Alpha standards, and not even fully hard. Hotch moves up to straddle him, kneels with his legs wide and props his cock up with one hand while sinking down on it. 

He starts off fast, he’s got no time to waste. Reid bucks his hips and lets Hotch take control. There’s slapping, huffing, shoving. Gripping fingers, bruising bites, curled toes. “Fuck,” Hotch growls. “So full, my God.”

He slams down on Reid, doesn’t care if he’s being rough, only listens to the need coursing through his veins. Every second that passes he finds the knot inside him swelling, so big and pressing and full and satisfying, and _everything._

Inside the room it’s a flurry of emotion, smells, feels, taste, sounds, all of it. His thighs are slick and wet, his hands shaking, lip trembling. Reid’s steady hum is flowing through him like a river, too fast for him to catch anything but the sound of his voice. _The knotting glad found at the base of the penis is comprised of stratified columnar and transitional epithelial cells designed to stretch upo—_

Hotch himself is focused on only one thing and it’s playing on loop in his head. His heat has him fevered and frantic, and all he can think of is _Knot knot knot knot knot knot knot knot knot knot knot knot_ , and it only quiets down when Reid has swollen to full size; it’s completely stuffed him to the brim and effectively turned him into jelly. He cums fast and hard, trembling, growling, whimpering, spurting ropes of cum along his Alpha’s stomach right as he gets filled up with warm, wet cum pulsing into him with purpose. 

Then his eyes go completely black- the pupils have dilated so wide there’s no distinction- his thoughts have slowed down to a crawl and it seeps out smooth and sweet like honey, _Alppppphhaaaa…_

Reid catches him as he topples over, then pulls him close and makes sure his knot isn’t pulling in any uncomfortable way while he’s too gone to say anything. 

Morning comes… several days later. Hotch’s heat subsides and it’s like it never happened. He doesn’t mention it, Reid would never, and on the next case they’re back to separate beds. 

The cases go by smoothly; there’s a definite synchronicity between them that only aides in the field. Off the field, they’re almost friends. Others may even classify them as such. 

April rolls around and finds Hotch staring at a letter with shaky hands. Two days later, he’s standing in the courthouse with an eerie sense of dejavu. 

Reid is standing across the room with his hands buried in the sleeves of his sweater, making him look even younger and meeker than he is. Hotch can’t find it in himself to walk the short distance so he says where he is. Only when he’s called forward does he meet Reid in the same spot he did a year prior, this time with a thousand new experiences. 

The official is talking but he’s got his eyes on Reid. He doesn’t hear a single thing. Besides, the subject of the meeting is already clear: The unmated pair may break the bond if absolutely necessary. 

Hotch remembers the way he recoiled in anger and disgust at the sight of his Alpha for the first time. Now, he can’t imagine looking at him without the acceptance of comfort and home leaking through. 

But he’s never needed an Alpha, not once. Not since this all began. He’s never wanted a life that included being the second hand man, the sidekick, the understudy. And Reid knows it, too. He’s biting his nails, his most nervous tell, and shuffling his feet on the floor. 

He’s anticipating what Hotch is about to say next: 

“Yes. Yes, I would.” 

It’s simple. Hotch doesn’t want an Alpha, especially such an unlikely Alpha such as his, highbred or not. But there’s a heavy, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and it’s causing him to feel uneasy. 

The official looks to Reid who seems to quiver and become smaller. “Dr. Reid are you in agreement to sever the bond?” 

Hotch feels Reid’s eyes as they flicker up to meet his. He sees the rejection pooling in them like a heavy muck. The despair, the shame. 

It doesn’t feel good to see his Alpha like that, but soon he won’t be his Alpha at all. 

Reid nods with a little frown, eyes cast down again. “Yes…” 

Hotch breathes out. It doesn’t help. He feels guilty, like he’s sinking down down down. Reid looks like he’s going to cry and that's the last thing he wants. 

Unlike last time Reid doesn’t linger. When the official finishes his spiel about not biting again to dissolve, Reid turns and bolts from the room. 

Hotch isn’t too far after. 

“Reid, wait!”

He’s out the door and making a be like for the metro when Hotch loses him.

 _Wait. Reid?_ he thinks. 

It comes back clear at day: _Hotch._

 _Please…_ he pauses, sits in silence. _Please, let me explain._

_There’s nothing to explain. The year is up. We had an agreement. That’s that._

Hotch has never had an easy time talking about these things, but he tries. _It's not. Please. My place?_

Reid comes walking towards him from the left, shoots him a strained smile, and says, “Fine. But after that I’m leaving for Nevada.”

Hotch frowns. He feels like he’s made a mistake.

. . . 

It’s a wave crashing, a jet engine crackling to life, a cool, crisp breeze in the dead of Winter. It’s strange but pleasing, just as the entire journey has been so far.

Hotch has Reid standing in his kitchen, eyes set steadily on him, nose attuned, fingers itching. He stands against the opposite side of the room, leaned up against the counter, and he says, “Thanks for coming.” It’s as much as he can manage, given the fact that every nerve in his body is currently set alight and his brain is sending impulsive, intrusive urges to him like his life depends on it: _smell him, scent him, mark him._

_Mine,_ he thinks, can’t stop it from slipping out. 

Reid bites his lip, looks toward the floor. His fingers and wrapped tightly around his belt as he shifts on the spot. “Of course.”

“It’s getting… harder to resist,” Hotch says. His eyes trail Reid’s moppy curls past the slip of his neck and his slanted shoulders covered in cotton and lilac. “I apologize if I’m making you uncomfortable.” It’s almost automatic, his impulse to soothe. Around Reid, he can’t seem to squash it. He doesn’t need to much, though, he’s not been in the habit of insulting him lately. 

“You’re not…” Reid scuffles his shoe on the tiled linoleum. “But you said..”

“I’ve reduced you to a quivering mess just inviting you inside my apartment,” Hotch quips. “Sorry, no. It’s just, well, you’re so…” He pauses. “We were both forced into this. I can see how hesitant you are. I’m sure you weren’t thrilled being paired up with me either. And God knows I didn’t make it easy on you.”

“I won’t deny that you intimidate me,” Reid laughs. “But I appreciate the strong will. Frankly, I don’t know what I would have done if I had to protect someone, be strong for them, like I’m, you know. A real Alpha.” 

Hotch frowns. “You are.” He cleans his throat. “A real Alpha; you are. What I said before about wanting you to Alpha up, that wasn’t—” he furrows his brows, looks at his calloused hand with a pensive stare. “There are a lot of ways to be strong. I didn’t realize that before.” 

Reid looks up and meets his eyes. They’re brown and glistening, full of emotion. 

“I’ve only ever been focused on making myself into this impenetrable figure, confident, strong, demanding, because I was scared of what might happen if I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be the helpless Omega, someone that has their life all figured out for them by the strongest one in the room. I didn’t want to _defer_.”

“I’d never ask you to do that.” 

Hotch smiles, loosens his grip on the counter. “I know.” He takes a step closer, watches as Reid’s eyes dilate and follow him. “What I thought I wanted, this idea of a powerful Alpha, someone like me, that’s not it at all.”

“It’s not?” Reid gulps. His face is darkening with a reddish hue, and he’s holding a deep breath. 

“Turns out I can't profile myself if my life depended on it. I don’t want someone to take charge, someone unwavering, unapologetic. I uh.”

Reid puts his hands in his lap. “You…”

“I want someone like _you_ ,” he says. “Understanding, level headed, able to step back when appropriate. Someone that appreciates, even compliments, how I choose to be, lets me be that way. Lets me fight my own battles. At the courthouse I… I don’t think I wanted to acknowledge that yet. Or let go of the ideas I had before.”

“It’s not that I _let_ you, Hotch…” 

“Aaron,” he clears his throat. “And you’re right. You have no idea how angry I would be if you tried to stronghold my battles. I didn’t realize that before either; I merely saw your submissive nature and projected all your perceived shortcomings into my own mess of insecurities. I never wanted someone controlling, I just wanted to put you down for the sole reason of having a status that I wanted. I… I don’t want someone like that.” Hotch loosens his tie and presses it down against his chest. “I didn’t want an Alpha, I didn’t want to accept what I am.”

“Being an Omega is nothing to be ashamed of,” Reid whispers. Hotch has gotten so close to him that he’s less than a foot away. “It’s just DNA. You make up your own personality, make your own decisions…”

“You showed me that, yes.” Hotch tips his head and breathes in deep. “When I’m around you it’s the only time I feel both confident and entirely myself. Like I _am_ Omega, and still _me_ , and I’m not ashamed.”

Reid’s smile piques up; it’s lopsided, dopey, and his eyes are sparkling. “I feel the same way. Well- no, I mean, uh. You know, _Alpha_ , but still me. Bookish and, uh, not so… domineering, but not so embarrassed about it...”

Aaron nods. The distance between them closes as he wraps his arms around Reid’s shoulders. _Blue, Arid and Spacey._ Hot, buzzing air surrounds them, an electrical storm of emotion, and he feels alive. 

He feels right. He feels like he’s got his mate in his arms and he’s in charge of protecting him, the way he’s always imagined it, but never fully realized. Before he knows it, he’s kissing Spencer’s cheek and smiling into it. 

“It’s not too late,” he whispers. “If you’d still be agreeable.”

Spencer pulls back and looks at him. “Not break the bond?”

“Yes,” Aaron nods resolutely. 

Spencer ducks his head and Aaron lifts it up by his chin. He has a blush reddening his cheeks and it’s even more embarrassing than the first time because this time it means something. “I’d like that.”

Hotch nods, pulls Spencer into his arms, and hugs him tight. “Alpha,” he whispers into the crook of his neck, curly hair and all. There’s no shame as he says it. “Bite me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god so there it is. I'm so happy to be done with this fic, I lost all motivation after the second chapter but THERE WE GO. It's done. I feel weightless


End file.
